Had dinner with my friend who’s halfway through a read through last night and she said, “HBP is my favorite because I love anything about Snape.” And she talked about how much the books emphasize Snape’s hatred for Harry so much more than the movies, then mentioned his emotional outburst at the end of PoA. And she said all of this without any derision, just calm analysis of his characterization.
IT WAS THE MOST REFRESHING GODDAMN THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED.
And it reminded me, as these conversations often do, that fans and fandom are very different. Fans can see the darkness in Snape’s character and still love him for how complex he is. They don’t feel the need to qualify his negative attributes because they understand that the books have already done that.
Drabble; PG-13; MSR (eh bordering on friendship) with Dad Friend Skinner; Humor; Skinner invites Mulder and Scully out for drinks after they try to save his ass.
Everything is planned out to the last detail. Someone is going to admit to a goddamned paranormal experience tonight and it is not going to be him. If you were to tell Fox Mulder that there would be a time in his life where he’d be surrounded by people who were even more brooding and repressed than himself, he would’ve laughed and laughed and laughed and started yelling about his sister. Repression is his corner of the market. Except it’s… sort of not, anymore.
This is going to happen even though it means sitting through the most awkward night of his life. And it is, do not doubt him on that. Even the warped, boundless depths of his sick imagination could not have come up with this. His penchant for self-abuse only extends so far.
Having drinks with your boss and coworker should not be this mortifying. But it really, really is.
First, no one talks but him. What is the point of going out for drinks if no one talks? Even when he goes out by himself he talks to the bartender, at least. He used to hit on girls but that was when he was suave and brainwashed and all of the horrific shit he’d gone through had been buried deep, deep inside. Now it’s all on the surface and the only girl who’ll talk to him is Scully, and if he hits on her she’ll shoot him with either her apoptotic stare or her big ol’ FBI gun. He’s not sure what would turn him on more. He could try Skinner, but could Mulder really handle that kind of rejection?
And then there’s of course the fact that they’re both drinking him under the table. Which is the point of all of this, anyway, but they’d be crushing him even if he had decided to go all in. Scully slams back her vodka and cranberry like she wants to be drinking something else, is taking the mild route to assuage their fear of her being some kind of closet alcoholic. Her display does nothing of the sort.
And Skinner with his scotch whiskey and faraway stare. If he’s drunk Mulder can’t tell. What if Skinner’s always drunk? He almost turns to ask Scully this, but then remembers Skinner is right there.
“So, Skinman,” Scully breaks the silence hilariously. But it’s certainly not on purpose. She is drunk. Mulder is dying on the inside, trying not to laugh. What the fuck. She wasn’t supposed to let Skinner know they call him that. “What’s the occasion?”
Skinner folds his arms on the bar in characteristic film noir seriousness, staring hard ahead. The barman pours him another J & B. “You guys put your necks on the line… for my career.” Not ‘for me,’ Mulder notes morosely. Skinner really is more repressed than him.
Scully snorts. “Are you kidding? This is the best case we’ve had in ages. I’m so damn sick of aliens.”
Mulder glares at her. Suddenly she’s not so funny.
“So, Scully,” Mulder says casually. He’ll be sly about this. She won’t even know he’s questioning her. “There’s a case coming up that is very similar to yours and other’s we’ve seen in the files. We have to leave as soon as Skinner signs off on it.” Skinner groans. “I want you to look over the file, first, let me know if the notes at all remind you of your experience.”
“I wasn’t fucking abducted by aliens.”
“Skinner, Walter. I know you’re scared. I know that you think no one will believe you, that you’re crazy. But you know I’ll listen. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Does he ever shut up?” Skinner asks Scully. She sucks at the last dredges of liquor from her empty glass and the sound is annoying as hell. She shakes her head no.
this is the very last time in all of trc that fai calls kurogane daddy and i love it bc
it’s post celes so despite being the Big Bad Finale it’s fucking hilarious
fai looks so goddamn put out in the top panel
kurogane being like “i know you can fight it’s been 230 chapters since we met” and fai is like “i resolved my arc so i can joke abt this with either more or less irony than before either way im gonna milk it”
it’s literally so fucking cheerful for no reason they’re an old married couple they worked it out and in the middle of the BIG OLE BOSS FIGHT fai’s all ‘cmon youre the big buff cream puff around here, daddy’ & it’s just
your lives are on the line
‘surely this would be a job for daddy?’ is punchline with a 230 chapter set up abt fai’s entire character arc as would-have-been antagonist to family member and it’s ridiculous i literally dont have the words
This post is brought to you by panic attacks whee
I’m seeing an exorbitant amount of Octavia hate right now and I am the exact opposite of here for it goddamn.
I have seen that look that she had on her face before, that horrible empty look, reflected back at me in the mirrored door of an ER trauma room that I was kept in overnight and into the next day because there were no beds in psych. I have screamed at my closest friends that I hated them, I lashed out because I had no fucking idea how to cope with that exact darkness she talks about in that episode. I’ve felt that, I feel it more than I would ever like to admit.
The episode was ridiculously difficult for me to watch and the traumas it brought up caused my first panic attack in months.
Until you have been in that sort of place, you have no fucking room to judge her actions in this episode because you have NO FUCKING IDEA what it’s like to hit bottom so hard your teeth rattle and everything just shuts down. So fuck off with the Octavia hate and also, shut the fuck up. Nobody asked.
I was making a delicious tortilla – the eggy Spanish kind rather than the bready kind – and having A Good Tuesday and listening to The TAZ Zonecast Podcast. I had already ridden the wave of the chapter I posted last night on into writing a whole ‘nother one this morning, thus contributing further to today’s Good Tuesday status.
And like…I must’ve got distracted by all that goodness or whatever, cos I was fucking chopping up some thyme and manage to get the tip of my fucking left index finger under the goddamn fucking knife I was using and cut into it pretty badlyish so like…
This is my Icarus moment, innit? This is the smouldering candle scent of my fucking wings starting to melt or whatever cos like..? Having an index finger that works, and doesn’t hurt when you press it against a key on a keyboard, is like a pretty useful thing when it comes to writing good words and stuff.
So I’m grumpy about that. And about the fact that like, if I wanted to enjoy the time off writing I have by fuckin…playing video games or whatever, that’s my ‘D’ key finger right there so GOOD LUCK EVER STRAFING RIGHT, JAMES, OR EVER PANNING THE CAMERA THATTAWAY, OR FUCKING WHATEVER.
And sure it’s only my left hand, so I can probably still go to rapier class tomorrow – cos unlike Dave in my destreza class, my Fabris instructor guy doesn’t ask people to just switch sword hands halfway through a thing – but I fucking swear if I have to like…do the swatting-aside-incoming-thrusts-with-my-offhand thing I will cry at the mere threat of a sword touching this finger in particular. Fuck.
I calculated my Year card in tarot and holy shit I’m in a Chariot year, which honestly makes so much sense. Like I literally even took a road trip and moved cross country between last birthday and now.
As soon as my birthday hits, I’ll be in a Strength year. Goddamn.
As Han gets older, his eyesight gets a lot worse. He’s forever bumping into things and bruising himself on the Falcon and swearing loudly, and he’s trying to hide it from Luke because he doesn’t think glasses suit him, and goddamn, Luke would never let it go but after the third time they nearly clip an asteroid, Luke (who actually knows everything) gives him a pair of electronic glasses that automatically correct his vision that he picked up on their last stop while rolling his eyes. Sheepishly, Han accepts them with a “Thanks, Luke”, and his flying returns to normal again. Next time they sleep together, Han takes off his clothes, and goes to remove the glasses, but Luke stops him, and whispers “Keep them on”, while smirking a little. They fuck all night long.
Han doesn’t have much of a problem with wearing them after that.